


Undercover

by juiceboxjellyfish



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2019, Established Relationship, FTM Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, M/M, Prompt: Christmas celebration, Prompt: Undercover, Trans Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juiceboxjellyfish/pseuds/juiceboxjellyfish
Summary: Baz is trans and has to visit his family, who don't know, for Christmas. Simon helps him cope.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	1. Chapter 1

BAZ

My father rarely calls me, so when his name shows up on the screen I assume the worst. I pick up the phone, ready to be informed of a family emergency. Instead, I am met by his most casual tone. While better than a family emergency, the phone call is not great. I’m frozen in place with my phone in my hand for a while after he hangs up, staring emptily into the room in front of me, any Christmas spirit I previously felt washed out of me.

It’s already dark out when Simon gets home (though to be fair it gets dark too early this time of year) and despite my recent loss of excitement, I’ve lit all our Christmas lights to welcome him.  
“The balcony looks great!”, he calls from the hall. “Could you come give me a hand with the groceries?” It’s such a small, normal thing, but the domesticity of it always makes me smile. Snow and I share a flat and help each other with chores and errands. Besides, he looks so lovely when he’s just walked in from the cold. His hair is speckled with snow and his nose and cheeks are adorably red. I free him of a couple of bags and he gives me a soft kiss. It would be so lovely to just stay here with him for the entirety of the holidays.  
“Earth to Baz?”  
“Huh?”  
“You seem a bit distracted”, he says. “What’s up?”  
I don’t want to spoil the moment (though I guess you could say I already have).  
“Oh, it’s nothing”, I lie.  
“C’mon”, he says, stroking a strand of hair out of my face “Tell me what’s wrong.” In all the years I pined for him, I never dared to imagine him this soft, this caring. It would’ve broken me then and it breaks me now, but in the best possible way.  
“I got a call from my father. He wants me to bring you home with me for Christmas dinner.”  
“Oh”, he gasps. “But I thought your dad hated me.”  
“He does, he’s just being polite.”  
“Well it doesn’t sound great, but we’ll manage. Right? It’s just a few hours.” It seems so simple to him. He must’ve forgotten, or maybe I never told him…  
“Simon, they don’t know”, I remind him. (Am I reminding him? I tell him.)  
“Huh?”  
“That I’m trans. They think I’m a girl.”  
“Oh.” He’s silent for a few moments. Have I actually not told him before?  
“But you’ve been out at Watford this whole time, how could they not know?”  
“I lied to them. Told them Bunce was my roommate and not you.”  
“Wow.”  
“Yeah.” More silence.  
“You know, I did try to tell them a long time ago, when I was just a kid. Before I even knew what being trans was, I would insist I was supposed to be a boy. They never listened. Father thought it was silly and told me I could play boy’s games and wear trousers if I wanted to, but that that didn’t make me a boy. I think he thought he was being awfully progressive when he told me I could do these things and still be a girl but to me it just seemed like he wasn’t listening. Or he was, but he didn’t care. The whole thing kind of deterred me from trying again once I knew what was actually going on.”  
“Crowley, that sucks. I’m sorry.”  
“Yeah. So not only will we be stuck at an awkwardly formal event surrounded by people who kind of hate you, I will also be forced to wear a dress and get constantly misgendered by people who supposedly love me.” “Not fun”, he states.  
“Not fun”, I agree.

We don’t talk about it more that day. Simon must be able to tell that talking won’t help, because he doesn’t try to bring it up. We just snuggle up in front of the TV and watch Christmas movies until we’re so sleepy we can hardly walk back to bed.

When it comes up again, it’s about the dress. I still own a few dresses specifically for occasions like these, and I’ve laid them out on the bed to pick one when Simon walks in.  
“What’re you… oh. I didn’t know you had those.”  
“Well I don’t exactly wear them on a day to day basis, do I?”  
“I guess not. Which one are you going to wear?”  
“I don’t know. I hate all of them, just for being mine. Any thoughts?”  
“Not really. Can’t imagine you in a dress.”  
“I wish it could stay that way”, I mumble, more to myself than to Simon.  
“Hey”, he says softly. “Baz. I don’t want this either. It’s gonna suck, and you’re gonna be uncomfortable, and I’m gonna wish we were at home watching the Doctor Who special and eating gingerbread cookies because that sounds like a way better Christmas to me, but we’ll be fine.”  
“I just… I want you to see me as a guy”, I whisper.  
“I do, Baz. I always have, and I always will”, he reassures. “You’ll just be a guy who’s being forced to wear a dress…. hey… Maybe that’s something…”  
“What?”  
“What if we pretended the dress had a different purpose?”  
“I’m not following.”  
“We could treat the dress like a disguise. Like we’re undercover.”  
“Undercover?”  
“Yeah, like spies! You’re undercover as a girl and I’m undercover as a straight person, and your deadname and all that are just part of your disguise!”  
“But they’re not.”  
“They kind of are, though. You’re putting on a dress and letting people call you by the wrong name to hide your real identity. Sounds like you’re undercover to me.”  
“That’s so dumb”, I say, but I’m smiling.  
“Maybe. But do you think it would help?”  
I consider it. It’s silly, so very silly. It’s playing pretend with a bunch of adults who aren’t in on it, it’s an attempt to solve a problem not by getting rid of it but by pretending it’s something else. It’s dumb. But at the same time, he has a point. I’m not a girl. I’m a guy, putting on a dress and makeup for a day to convince people I’m something I’m not.  
“You know what? It just might”, I respond. Simon grins from ear to ear.  
“But if this is a spying mission, what are we after?”, I ask.  
“Infiltration”, Simon answers. “And delicious food. Mostly the food.”

I still hate the dress. I still hate the makeup and the heels and the jewellery. I’m never particularly fond of what I see in the mirror, but this is so much worse than usual.  
“It’s just a disguise” I tell myself. “It’s just a costume. It’s not me.” Simon’s reflection shows up behind me. He’s wearing a grey suit and is, of course, looking stunning. I want to hide, to pull a blanket over my head and talk to him from beneath it so that he never associates me or my voice with the thing I’m looking at in the mirror.  
“Are you ready to go, Baz?”, he asks. Hearing my name, my real name, while looking like this feels more reassuring of Simon’s view of me than anything else he’s said to me about all of this.  
To him, I’ll always be Baz.


	2. Chapter 2

BAZ

I almost manage to forget our destination in the car, and the dread fades away until the Pitch manor becomes visible. It looms over us, dark and unwelcoming, and even though I love the architecture I hate the sight of it.  
“Ready?”, Simon asks.  
“No, but they’ll have us assassinated if we’re late”, I respond, ringing the doorbell. A maid opens almost instantly and calls my father to the door. He can’t have been further than the other room, because he appears just as quickly.  
“Aurelia!”, he exclaims (well, I say exclaims – someone who doesn't know him would probably hear it as a neutral statement). I do my best not to visibly cringe at the name, and Simon places his hand around my waist.  
“Good afternoon father”, I force out. “I trust you recognise Simon.” He gives a disapproving look, but it only lasts a moment and he masks it well. If Simon notices, he doesn’t show it. He reaches his hand out.  
“Good afternoon Mister Grimm”, he says.  
“Snow”, my father states. They shake hands, both doing an adequate job at pretending to like each other. There’s a moment of silence before my father states that dinner will be ready in ten minutes or so and leaves. As soon as he’s gone, Simon grabs both my hands.  
“We’ve got this Baz”, he whispers. “Remember, it’s just pretend. Just for a few hours. We’ve got this.” I want to stay with him. I don’t care about Christmas traditions, I just want to stay with Simon. I force myself to nod. I can do this. Probably. 

Dinner is terrible. Or well, not the dinner itself. The food is great, it always is, but the whole situation is awful. Father feels the need to ask about everything that’s been going on in my life since I moved out, and also seems dead set on interrogating Simon. Simon, bless his heart, does everything in his power to avoid saying my deadname or even use any pronouns, even when both are included in the question. He sticks to every lie I’ve told to keep myself closeted, and talks about how me being roommates with Penny caused us to interact despite our rivalry without giving any details that might contradict something I’ve told them before. He eats as much as he can with one hand, the other holding mine under the table. We rarely use pet names at home, but throughout dinner he calls me nothing but “babe” and “darling”. Fuck, I love him.

It takes nearly forty-five minutes for someone to say something homophobic. Longer than I’d expected, but still not great. It’s Malcolm, and it’s just in passing. An offhand remark about someone’s style choices being a bit queer, a prejudiced assumption about some acquaintance said in a disapproving tone. It’s rarely more than that. Never outright aggressive. It doesn’t need to be. These remarks, this assumption that we all were straight and cisgender and disapproving of queer people, has always been enough. I don’t believe them anymore, but they're still etched into me. They still echo in my mind late at night when I’m staring at the ceiling, failing to fall asleep. I still hear them when I hold Simon’s hand in public and someone gives us a strange look. I don’t believe them. But they’ve scarred me. And when I hear them repeated as I sit there in a dress, making my boyfriend pretend to be straight, all those scars break open and start bleeding on everything. My throat is tight and my lungs are cold, and I squeeze Simon’s hand so hard I think I’m stopping his blood flow.  
“I need to use the bathroom”, he blurts out. “Could you show me the way, darling?”

As soon as we’re alone, Simon wraps his arms around me.  
“Crowley, they suck”, he says. I just nod.  
“I’m so sorry Baz. We should’ve come up with some excuse. Told them you were sick.”  
“No, it’s okay.”  
“It’s not okay, Baz. It sucks. So badly. But you’re doing great, Baz!”  
“Right, we’re undercover.”  
“Exactly. And you’ve got them all fooled. You’re a great actor, Baz. You’ve got this.”  
“Are you calling me Baz every five seconds to compensate for them?”  
“Yes. Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Baz Ba-“  
“You’re a moron. I love you.”  
“I love you too, Baz. Now let’s go make your family think we’re straight.”  
“No, you’re supposed to be in the bathroom remember?”  
“Right! Well, longer break for us then. Wanna make out?”  
“Not in a dress, no. Can we just talk?”  
“Of course.”  
We make it through dinner somehow. Every time someone calls me Aurelia, Simon squeezes my hand under the table, and I feel just a little bit less terrible. At least one person at this table sees me for who I am.

When we finally get to leave, the car seems like heaven in comparison. Simon doesn’t even have time to start the car before I’ve kicked off my shoes and put my boots back on. Once we’re on the road, he tosses me a package.  
“Makeup wipes?”, he asks.  
“I love you, have I ever told you that?”, I ask, tossing my jewellery on the car floor.  
“Might’ve mentioned it once or twice. Now, let’s go home and have a proper Christmas!”

As soon as the apartment door is unlocked, I rush to the bedroom and start ripping the dress off. A binder and a pyjama set later, I walk back to the kitchen. Simon lights up when he sees me.  
“You’re gorgeous like that”, he says. “I don’t know what I did to get such a hot boyfriend.”  
“Don’t flatter yourself, I have a thing for morons.”  
“Fuck off”, he says, pulling me into a kiss. “You’re insufferable”, he adds when we pause to breathe. “Anyway, there’s like, no good food in here. Wanna order takeout?”

We eat in front of the TV, watching some cheesy Christmas movie. It’s too predictable for me to even bother pausing it when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Penny.  
“I heard you guys weren't gonna have the greatest of Christmases, so I thought I’d pop by. I brought gingerbread cookies!”  
“Yeah, I can smell them. Come in! We’re watching some predictable crap, but it has its charm. Unfortunately we missed Doctor Who.”  
“I didn’t think you liked Doctor Who.” “I don’t. But Simon loves it.”  
She just smiles at that, hanging her scarf on the coat rack.  
“I’ll only be a minute”, she says. “You go back to Simon.”

We eat gingerbread cookies and takeout, all three of us squeezed onto a couch meant for two, talking over the mediocre movie. It’s messy and imperfect and mostly improvised and yet, when I climb into bead that night, I’m sure it’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had. It’s certainly the first one I’ve celebrated at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I can't believe I actually completed the countdown??  
I hope y'all enjoyed it, and Merry Christmas if you celebrate!
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you liked it, as I absolutely adore to read them!


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